


Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

by sam_kom_trashkru



Series: The Chronicles of the Nightbloods [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anyways, Character Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, aden is a pure golden duckling too good for this world, aden is the commander, i blame clarkesquad and reshopgoufa for this one, legacy!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_kom_trashkru/pseuds/sam_kom_trashkru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me // That I live and you are gone. // There's a grief that can't be spoken // There's a pain goes on and on. // Phantom faces at the window // Phantom shadows on the floor // Empty chairs at empty tables //Where my friends will meet no more.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Aden as he becomes the commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clarkesquad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkesquad/gifts).



> yeah so I listened to empty chairs at empty tables on repeat while writing this and let me tell you it was a ROLLERCOASTER of emotions. It isn't necessary to read the other two parts of this series to understand, but if you want to get to know the other ducklings, might wanna check those out first. Hope you enjoy!

He could hear cheering, though it sounded distant and muffled. His vision was blurred, and all he could do was stare at his hands, covered in inky black blood. He was covered in it, from head to toe, blonde hair and pale skin stained. There was so much of it,  _ so much,  _ and he couldn't tell which was his and which belonged to the others. His breath hitched in his throat, and he could feel the panicked sobs wrenching themselves from his body, shaking like a leaf, before he was pulled into a warm embrace. 

“Shhh, shhhh, Aden, it's alright, you're alright, breathe with me, ok?” He collapsed into the hug, sobs still wracking his body, tears running clear paths down his inky stained cheeks. He felt sick, as though he could empty his entire stomach, and not even the blonde healer’s soothing hand motions could calm him. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. 

His brothers and sisters, all dead, all gone. 

Why did it have to be this way? He wasn't responsible for most of their deaths himself, no, that was up to Ontari, but he felt the weight of all ten of his siblings on his heart, and the Ice Nation’s nightblood, too. The others had worn her down, but it was Aden who finished her, filled with the blind rage of a brother consumed with grief. There were so many  _ what ifs _ running through his mind. Perhaps, if he had gotten to Ontari earlier, he could have stopped the bloodshed and convinced Titus to end the Conclave. Little Sammy had been the first to die. Ontari had left him there, in the shadows, refusing to end his fight mercifully, leaving him to suffer, and Sammy’s big black eyes had locked onto Aden’s desperately, almost sighing with relief when the blonde boy gently pressed his blade between his ribs where he knew the boy would pass quickly. Ever the master of few words, Sammy had only smiled through his tears at the older boy and whispered a quiet:

“ _ Mochof.” _

Aden found the rest of his siblings in similar situations, Ontari wounding them fatally, but refusing to end them, choosing instead to let them bleed out and suffer. Even Wiley hadn’t been able to outrun death. 

Towards the end, Aden was reunited with Ellis and Nam, who had managed to survive as he had, their eyes darkened with rage, and he had no doubt they'd seen the complete lack of honor in Ontari. She'd taken on all three of them at the same time, the trio defending each other as they attacked mercilessly, to no avail. She’d cut Ellis down during a brief break in Nam and Aden’s defense, and when the auburn haired girl fell, her dark haired counterpart became reckless in his attacks, which gave Aden the opportunity to fatally wound her, but not before she threw her last dagger into his friend’s stomach. 

Aden had begged him to stay, to keep his eyes open, hands pressing into Nam’s stomach frantically, Ellis’s fallen body next to the two. 

“I can see the butterflies,” Nam had choked out, a sad sort of smile on his face, “Ellis is with the butterflies, Aden, I want to go.” So Aden let him to, tears in his eyes and rocks in his stomach. 

“It's alright Aden, it's alright.” He could hear Clarke talking to him, but the words weren't registering in his brain. Just the day before he had lost Lexa, his  _ nomon _ , and now he lost the others. His brothers and sisters. Gone were the days of races with Wiley, of tree climbing with Koda. Of impromptu plays in the darkened halls of the library with Nam, Ellis watching with light in her eyes. Mari would no longer be there to show him how to calm down even the most skittish of horses, usually annoyed by Lyz tripping over something and cursing. Lysh’s calming voice would no longer be heard trying to talk Daya out of sneaking out to search for  _ pauna.  _ Pep would no longer be around to build forts out of furs when there was a particularly bad thunderstorm, pulling quiet Sammy onto his lap as he captured all of the nightbloods’ attention with his stories. 

They were all gone.  _ Dead.  _ And he was left to live without them. How could he? What reason did he have to live. 

“Shhh, Aden, I've got you, I've got you.” In the right embrace of Clarke, he was reminded of his birthmother holding him the day he was taken, and allowed himself to fall into blissful black oblivion. 

Clarke guarded Aden as though her life depended on it. In her short time in Polis, the two of them had formed a budding relationship, the boy looking up to her, and she looking at him with affection. She allowed Titus to approach him only under her intense glare, hovering over his every movement as he inserted the commander’s chip into the back of Aden’s neck. 

In the deep recesses of his mind, there is finally light in the darkness. Big doe eyes, bright blue like the sky, blink open owlishly, taking in the artificial cleanliness of the old earth. He was out of place here, it was unnatural. He turned as though to find a way to escape, but froze in his tracks when he saw a familiar set of green eyes gazing lovingly into his own. 

She looked different here, more at peace, soft brown waves of hair cascading down one shoulder, free of braids, and her fair skin was unblemished by kohl. But she was here, and she was familiar, and Aden rushed towards her opened arms with a sob. 

“ _ Nomon,” _ he cried brokenly, face buried in the familiar warmth at the nape of her neck. 

“Oh, Aden,” she said softly, “you've been so brave.” He pulled back slightly to look at her, a tightness in his throat. 

“Am I dead?” he asked hopefully, and it broke Lexa’s heart when his expression became crestfallen when she shook her head. 

“No,  _ strikwada,” _ she said sadly, “you are  _ heda  _ now.”

“But I don't  _ want  _ to be  _ heda!” _ Aden sobbed, clenching his fists. “I never asked for this! Any of it! I just want my brothers and my sisters and I want  _ you _ back.” By this point he was hiccupping violently, body shaking with tremors, and he looked so  _ broken.  _ “I don't know  _ how  _ to be  _ heda _ , not without you.” 

Lexa cupped his face gently, tilting it upwards so tear filled blue orbs met suspiciously shining green ones. 

“I'll be here whenever you need me,” she promised, “it isn't your time get,  _ strikwada,  _ not for a long time. But when it is, know that your brothers and sisters are waiting for you.” Aden searched her eyes for any signs of deception, and when he found none, he allowed himself to melt into Lexa’s embrace, letting the tears flow freely. 

“They forgive you, Aden,” Lexa whispered into his ear, running soothing circles on his back as she held him tightly, “and miss you terribly already. But you have to be strong for us, alright, do you think you can do that  _ strikwada?” _

“ _ Sha, heda _ ,” he responded out of habit, and Lexa smiled softly at him and shook her head. 

“Lexa,” she corrected, “you are  _ heda _ now, little duckling. Now, before you go, I've been told to ask you a few things.”

“Anything,” he promised, heart still aching, but feeling more relaxed around his  _ nomon.  _

“Mari wanted me to remind you to care for Zodon, and Ellis reminds you to practice chess…” He listened to the last requests of his brothers and sisters with a melancholy smile, tears still leaking from his eyes. It hurt a little less now, seeing Lexa and hearing that they were alright. “And one more thing.”

He knew what she was going to say, but he let her say it anyways. 

“Take care of Clarke for me? I know she doesn't need it, but I'd feel better knowing she had my best initiate looking after her.”

“I promise, Lexa,” he said sincerely, and smiled as Lexa pulled him into one last hug, for now, he reminded himself. He could see her whenever he wished now. 

“You can wake up now,” Lexa encouraged, “your people await you,  _ heda.” _

Aden woke in a room that wasn't his. It was too big, and there was only one bed in it. This wasn't the room that he had shared with his ten siblings, filled with laughter and warmth and so many happy memories. Eyes still sticky with sleep and tears managed to pick out Clarke in the soft light, slumped over in a chair next to his bed. The back of his neck was sore, and his body ached, but he is alive, and he is in one piece, and he has so much to do. 

His first order of business as  _ heda  _ is sentencing Titus to death. The man had killed his  _ nomon _ , after all, and had caused too much pain for the nightbloods, Aden himself being on the receiving end of the man’s whip one too many times for his liking. His second was to appoint a new  _ fleimkeepa, _ and there was no doubt in his mind who he wanted for the position. 

Clarke had been caught off guard, but accepted without hesitation. Aden was her last connection to Lexa, and she found herself genuinely coming to care for the boy, though sometimes she couldn't stop the tightening of her chest and prickle at her eyes when she saw Aden with the golden cog resting between his brows, flowing red cape attached to his shoulder. He spent his first two months as commander tripping over the cape constantly, and he reminded himself of clumsy Lyz. 

The burning of the nightbloods had been a difficult night for the both of them. The funeral pyre had been built with the utmost care, and this was Aden’s final chance to say goodbye to his brothers and sisters. 

“ _ Yu gonplei ste odon,”  _ he whispered sadly, “may we meet again.” They were never gone from his memory though. Whereas Lexa had decorated her room with swords and mementos from her travels, Aden lined the chests with reminders of his family. Mari’s seashell necklace sat delicately on a mannequin, Ellis’s work copy of  _ The Art of War _ rested on his bedside table alongside Nam’s favorite set of throwing knives. Wiley’s worn dancing shoes were placed neatly atop a shelf, though it seemed odd to leave them still, as the moccasins were usually twisting around quickly in an elaborate pattern of steps. Pep’s storybook was placed atop a basket, underneath resting Sammy’s favorite blanket, which still smelt like him, if one searched hard enough. 

Lysh’s bird, Fern, still remained perched in the wicker cage Koda had made specifically for her, and Aden kept it far out of reach of Lyz’s demon cat, Maverick, and Daya’s wolfskin coat was draped over a chair in the corner. It was comforting, to have mementos from his siblings around him. He could still feel their presence, hear the echoes of laughter in empty hallways, the scramble of feet as they ran away from Titus, the disgruntled shouts when Ellis dominated yet  _ another  _ game of chess. Their ghosts haunted his every movement, but it wasn’t always in a bad way. They were watching over him, that Aden was sure. Ellis was probably calling him a  _ branwada _ , as she had done so often in her life, and he wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her, with all of them. 

Clarke designs his ascension tattoo, a beautiful pattern spreading across his back, the marks of each of the clans marked permanently into his skin. At his neck, where the mark of the commanders would usually rest, he asks instead for Lexa’s warpaint design, and when it is finished, Clarke’s hand traces over it and tears shine in her eyes as she hugs him.

There were many nights where Aden woke up, sweating, tears running down his cheeks and a tightness in his chest. Clarke always seemed able to sense when his nightmares occurred, and she would walk into his room and pull him close to her, whispering comforting words into his ears. He told her stories, of Lexa and his fellow nightbloods, he told her of the village where he was born, wondered aloud if Toni had grown out of his bullying nature, reminisced fondly of pranks and games and happiness. She sat silently throughout his tales, left hand sketching furiously at white paper, capturing the images onto something solid, tangible. 

The first picture she finished was one of Aden, a crooked smile on his face, shoving at a smirking Lexa, who was ruffling his hair with one hand, the other wrapped around his neck to keep him from escaping. Nam’s familiar form could be seen in the background, clutching his stomach with laughter, and it looked so  _ real _ . He cried when she showed it to him, happy tears, and immediately sent for a frame, determined to hang the picture on the wall in the throne room. It was too stiff, too menacing, and needed to be filled with life.

His legacy would be peace. He would finish what Lexa had started. 

At the beginning of his term as commander, he would visit the City of Light often, always fretting and asking Lexa for advice. She provided it for him, of course, but would shake her head fondly and tell him that he didn’t need all the advice. He had the knowledge and power within him already, and the genuine desire for peace. He could do anything if he set his mind to it, she told him. 

When Aden is fifteen, he becomes ravenous. The bakeries can’t supply enough honeycakes, and he is always,  _ always  _ eating. Clarke teases him for this, but supplies him with all the food he could want, and Aden is reminded of his birthmother, Flora, who had done the same, trying to will the small boy to grow. 

He finally does. 

He shoots up like a vine, shoulders widening, and he surpasses Clarke quickly, which pleases him to no end. Now it is she who has to lean down for warm hugs, and he feels tall and powerful. The voice cracking he could have done without, as it always happens at the most inconvenient times, during meetings with ambassadors and whenever he’s talking to Clarke, because the blonde is merciless in her laughter. He can practically  _ hear _ Ellis echoing the older blonde’s sentiments, and he scowls good naturedly and accepts the teasing. 

Pike is finally removed from a position of power when Aden is sixteen, has grown into his body and looks much more menacing, though his heart is still as soft and warm and big. He lets Octavia make the final cut, her eyes watering, voice choked with emotion. She deserves this. Pike had taken too much from her to not offer her the kill that was rightfully hers. Bellamy offers himself up for the same treatment, heart heavy with grief, but Aden spares him, and from the proud look in Clarke’s eyes, he knows that he has made the right decision. Letting Bellamy live with his grief was punishment enough, and the dark haired man places himself into a self-imposed exile much like Clarke had after the felling of the mountain. Kane becomes the  _ Skaikru’s  _ leader, and talks of peace with Aden. 

Finally, he has done it. The thirteen clans, united as one, could now flourish and prosper without the looming, imminent threat of war hanging over them like a stormcloud. Previously, Aden left the majority of trips to visit the other clans to Clarke, as he is always busy in the capital, but now he allows himself to accompany her. He finally sees the great open plains that Ellis had told him about with excitement in her voice, feels the wind in his hair and the freedom in his heart. His heart aches when he visit the Shadow Valley, and their queen, a dark skinned woman named Kieron, asks him with tears in her eyes if her son, her little Sammy, had lived happily before his death. 

Larynx of the  _ Gloukru  _ was much the same. She had mourned her son when she heard of the ascension of the new commander, a boy from  _ Trikru _ , but was confronted by his death once more when Aden visited. She asked if he died a good death, a warriors death, and Aden tells her that Nam was strong and brave even in his last moments, had died fighting alongside him, and that he was at peace now, reunited with the glowing butterflies native to his homeland. She thanked him tightly, and went about her business. Clarke was there to offer her silent companionship and comfort, rubbing a soft hand on his shoulder as he drew in a shaky breath. His friends still haunted him, even to this day.

By far the meeting he was most dreading was the one with Luna  _ kom Floukru _ . Mari had spoken of her in the highest regard, such adoration. She greeted him when he arrived, but took a closer look at the horse he was riding and broke down in tears. Zodon, as though he remembered her, nudged her arm in a comforting way, and Luna thanked him for taking care of the stubborn horse who had been her niece’s best friend. Luna is kind, and Aden wonders why he was so scared of her reaction, because she welcomes him with open arms and bright smiles. It is on his visit to the  _ Floukru  _ that Aden meets his match. 

Pax is darked skinned and handsome, all charming smiles and shining eyes. He has a lean swimmer’s build, and is half a head shorter than Aden, but seems so much larger than life. Everywhere the young man goes, there are a small gaggle of girls and boys following, but when his dark eyes lock onto Aden’s blue ones, it is as though the rest of his admirers aren’t even there.

Aden confesses his feelings to Clarke in the dark of night, panicked and unsure of himself, and Clarke smiles and caresses his face softly, telling him that this is all a part of growing up. 

“It’s terrifying,” she told him softly, “love. But it’s worth it. Don’t let it escape you.” He can feel the pang in the back of his head that is Lexa, yearning for her living lover, and he knows that she is right. The girl from the sky and the previous commander of the earth have a love stronger than the boundaries of life and death. He could feel it, the gentle contented humming in the back of his head whenever he was with Clarke, the happiness that rose in his stomach that wasn’t entirely his own. He could see it in Clarke’s eyes when she stared at him, sometimes, looking past the ruffled blonde hair and blue eyes, and remembering brown hair and piercing green eyes that had worn that sash, held the same title. 

Pax returns with him to Polis, and Aden’s heart soars. For the first time in a long time, his heart is filled. The three of them sit together often, and Aden recounts tales of his siblings as he always does, and Clarke continues to sketch and paint the images he provides her, hanging up the art in the throne room, whose walls are soon filled with life. 

Mari stroking Zodon’s head, Lysh laughing as she tugged Lyz up from the ground, Wiley’s lithe form darting through the trees, Koda hanging upside down from a branch, egging him on. Sammy, curled up under a mountain of furs, snoozing peacefully, Pep, sitting cross-legged, whistling a tune to himself. Anya putting Lexa in a headlock while Gustus watches on with mirth, eyes shining. Costia joins the images, buried in a book next to Ellis, Daya, head thrown back in laughter as she was paraded around on Nam’s strong shoulders. 

His favorite, however, was a mural directly behind his throne, of all of them, together, smiling as they sat around Lexa. Anya was lurking in the corner, a dagger in hand and smirk on his face, and Gustus sat next to Aden, munching on a honeycake. At Aden’s insistence, Clarke added herself to the image, sitting right next to Lexa, their hands intertwined. When ambassadors came to the throne room, they would pause for long moments to admire the art, especially the  _ Skaikru  _ delegates, who rotated.

Clarke never returns to her people, her home is in Polis now, she is the flamekeeper. 

They visit her often, attempting to make amends with the blonde haired leader who had single handedly ensured they wouldn’t be wiped from the ground once more, and she forgives them, one by one, and begins to look forward to their visits rather than dread them. One day, when Aden is seventeen, he proposes that they go to Arkadia for a visit. 

She is tentative at first, but Aden insists, and he says that Pax will accompany them, and they’ll make a vacation of sorts out of it. The camp has expanded much in the past six years, there are children running around with wooden swords, intermingling with Trikru children, and the gates are open. Chancellor Kane greets them happily, Abby pulling her daughter into a hug as soon as she is off of her horse. While there, he gets to know the remaining forty-seven of the original one hundred who fell to the ground. 

His favorite is Monty, who is kind and is similar in appearance to Nam, though their personalities were opposites. Never far behind him was the floppy haired boy,  _ Jaspa _ , who Nam had accidentally turned into a kebab when they first saw them. Clarke smiles when she sees them together, and tells Aden there was a time that they barely spoke a word to one another. Raven is another one of Aden’s favorites, her humor sharp and her glares menacing, and he thinks that she would have gotten along with Anya had the warrior lived to meet her. 

Octavia he remembers, and the battle hardened warrior scowls more than she smiles now, made bitter by the execution of Lincoln. She softens around Clarke, though, because they are the only two who can understand each other, as well as Raven, who had lost the boy she loved, once upon a time. The three of them loved each other, that much was obvious to see, but it wasn’t a romantic love. They were sisters, not by something as flimsy as blood, but by  _ choice _ , and Aden smiles at them and offers an open invitation to Polis, because he knows Clarke will be happier with them around. 

Upon his return, Clarke is called away, and anxiety once more seized Aden’s stomach, and she returns three days later with a curious little girl from  _ Sheidkru  _ in tow, with dark skin and frizzy hair that reminds him of Costia. Her name is Nyx, and she is filled with life, wonderment, but she is also nervous. He stoops down to her level and procures a honeycake, which she takes happily, smiling around its sweetness. She follows him with the same determination that he had followed Lexa, and becomes attached to her quickly. 

Others begin streaming in rapidly after her, gangly boys and free-spirited girls, and Rey from  _ Roukru  _ who is neither, and the others accept them readily into the fold. Aden trains them carefully, as though concerned he will break them. Pax joins their lessons, steady hands showing them how to properly wield weapons. They no longer have to fear harsh punishments, because Clarke doesn’t have the heart to hurt any of them. She wraps their injuries in bandages with care and whispers to them in conspiratorial tones about how many times she’d had to heal Aden, because he was a bit of a  _ branwada _ sometimes, and their eyes would always widen, because they saw him as the almighty  _ heda _ , the harbinger of peace, not someone to be teased. 

He watches them grow into fine warriors, flourishing in the peace. With Clarke, he successfully eliminates the Conclave, citing instead that the nightbloods should rule in a council of sorts, and the chip be reserved for someone voted by the rest of the nightbloods. He doesn’t want to see these kids,  _ his  _ kids, have to slaughter each other. He doesn’t want them to suffer with the nightmares that still plague him, years later, when he least expects them. He wants them to be safe and happy and prosperous.

He gets his wish.

They are adults now, fully grown and jovial, behaving like one big family. Aden himself is nearing forty-five years, the oldest living commander to date. Pax remains faithfully by his hide, the boy from the sea more at home in Aden’s warm embrace than he had been everywhere else. Aden was happy, genuinely happy, and his people were happy, and it was more than he had ever dreamt possible. As a young boy, the son of two bakers, he hadn’t imagined living a life this long, this filled with peace and joy and warmth. Any dreams he’d had of a future had died the day he discovered his dark blood, but it was now what made him strong.

He doesn’t expect it when a sickness sweeps across his people, but Clarke is there, healing as many as she can, nursing them back to health, preventing a full-blown crisis. 

But then Clarke falls ill. 

Aden knows she is dying, but he doesn’t want to accept it. 

He has stood vigil at her bed for weeks, watching with sad eyes as her condition only continued to deteriorate. His hand grasped hers tightly, and he can feel the concern in the back of his head that only magnifies his own. She is shaking, and has forgotten, frantic in her words and her movements, babbling nonsensically, but there is one word that is clear.

“Lexa.”

He rubs circles on the back of her palms with his thumbs, and pulls her into a hug that he isn’t entirely sure she feels as she is so sick, comforting her as she had comforted him throughout the years, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. Clarke had been his rock after everything, had been there to love and tease him when all the others were gone. She’d been with him on his ascension, held him through all of his night terrors, had stitched his wounds and nursed him back to health, had been there when he met Pax, had stood next to him at their union. He couldn’t imagine being without her now, not when she had stood by him for so long. 

“Shhh,” he cooes, “don’t worry, Clarke, you’ll see her soon, I promise.”

“Aden,” she chokes out, recognizing him for once, and he holds her tighter.

“I’m here,” he reassures, “I’m here.”

“ _ Stei yuj, strik bro, _ ” she whispers to him, eyes glazing, “I can see her, I can see her Aden. She’s so close.” He clutches her closer, nose buried in the familiar scent of her hair, relishing at the warmth of her body that he knows will be gone soon.

“You can let go, Clarke,” he sobs, “say hello to the others for me, will you?”

“May we meet again,” Clarke mumbles, and then she begins shaking once more, and Aden holds her until the tremors end and one final, stuttering breath escapes her body. He is crying, and he can feel Pax tugging him away from her body gently, but at the back of his head there is such  _ elation _ , and he can’t help but smile, because after all these years, Clarke and Lexa were finally reunited. 

Aden lives long enough to see three generations of nightbloods. He and Pax grow old together, watching their people flourish and build and grow, and he dies four months after his  _ houmon _ , peacefully, in his sleep, a soft smile on his face. 

When he looks down at himself, he has been returned to his prime, and there is a girl standing across from him, hands on her hips. She is older than he remembers her, but he supposes this is all a part of moving on. Her hair is still as fiery as the sun, eyes as warm as the rich soil of his homelands, and she is shaking her head at him.

“Took you long enough  _ branwada _ .” A smile stretches across his face,  wide and bright, because of course the first thing Ellis would do is insult him, and he takes her offered hand with reverence. “Come along, the others are waiting.”

And Aden is at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty please don't hate me? I kinda cried while writing this, but it's done, and I feel a little better now. 
> 
> Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated (especially comments, but I'm not picky), come hang out on tumblr, [hedaclexa](http://www.hedaclexa.tumblr.com).


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